Neelix left sickbay and headed toward his kitchen. It wasn’t altogether untrue, what he had heard Kes tell the Captain ealier in their voyage. Cooking did help him relax and unwind, and it had a rather pleasant side effect sometimes – he came up with wonderful receipes in this manner.
The mess hall was a darkened uphoria of mystery, the only lights being on in the back and given off by the ranges that were left on to stew or slow-boil particular dishes. He donned his apron and his hat and set to work mincing ingredients for tomorrow’s breakfast.
Forgiveness.
He forgave Jetrel, really he did…it wasn’t something that had just popped off the tip of his tongue to make the man die easier. If anything the man deserved to die painfully, just like his family had done in that Metreon Cascade back on Rinax.
And yet, he had.
It wasn’t Jetrel’s fault that the experiment hadn’t worked, that he wasn’t able to bring back the dead from that horrific event. And yet the fact that some part of them was still alive, their essence and soul hanging in the clouds above the atmosphere of the planet…the thought was worse than that of his family having perished. At least in death, they had found some sort of peace, like Palaxia, like the others that had lived but died weeks after the event. But to live a bodiless existence was, to him, somewhat as though they had been doomed to a state of in-between-ness, forced to wander and float in agony for all eternity.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts, in the memories of Rinax and the memories of Jetrel that he didn’t hear the door open, and didn’t think to look up until he realized that someone was watching him.
Two blue eyes peeked around the corner. Her head was the only thing that was completely visible; one small hand, one slim shoulder, fading down to a petite waist and leg.
Sara.
“Hello,” he finally managed, unnerved as always in her presence. He didn’t like telepaths, rather scorned them if the truth be known, much as Kes was one. “I…I um…didn’t see you there.”
She moved away then, coming fully into his sights, the light from the overhead panels glaring down upon her and making her seem more pale than usual. Clad in her usual duty uniform, the dark gray high-necked pullover top sliced through with stripes, below which was a lighter gray, her blue eyes dazzled against the contrast of shale.
“Is it true that you forgave Jetrel?” Her quiet voice was more of a low pitch than usual.
“I…” he paused. “That’s really none of your business.”
Sara gazed at him silently. Neelix turned to look at her. Her question hadn’t been accusatory or even slightly insulting.
She didn’t deserve the treatment she got. And he wasn’t as blind to it as some people thought he was.
“No, I’m sorry,” he finally sighed and left his spoon to pick her up, something he had only done twice before. The action still caused her to gasp and shift, even though she had full forewarning of it, and even stretched her arms to his shoulders as best she was able.
“It’s true, I did forgive him,” Neelix began, then realized she would already know what he was going to say, before he said it.
“Why?” Sara was curious.
The Talaxian shook his head. “I don’t know,” he shifted Sara again, clasping her a little tighter.
Sara changed tactics. “Did you have a family?”
“I had my parents,” he set her on the counter. “And my sisters.”
“How many?”
“Five.” For a telepath, she asked questions, questions that he would have just expected anyone else to garner from reading his thoughts.
“Older or younger?”
“All older,” he was wistful. “I was the youngest.”
Sara’s flickering smile pronounced itself. “Can I ask you a strange question?” she was curious.
“Sure, go ahead.” Neelix granted.
“Will you tell me about them?”
For nearly two hours Sara listened, entranced, as Neelix told the tales of his adventures with her, backpacking trips to explore the surrounding woods, nights of Prixin, drawn-out conversations, years of advice, a treasure trove that he held in his heart. And not once did she look sorry that she had asked.
“It sounds like you loved them a lot,” Sara’s voice was sympathetic.
“I did. When they died…” he paused, looking down. “It was as if part of me died as well. I still have something…an amulet that my oldest sister…that Alixia used to wear…somewhere…it’s in my quarters. What’s wrong?”
Her expression had changed to dubious, looking at the deck. “I just think sometimes,” she told him carefully, “that if I had something like that…maybe I could remember.”
“I thought you didn’t know what happened to you,” he was surprised.
“I don’t.” Sara was quiet. “But I think I should. I know…I know somewhere in my heart that my family is dead. I can’t explain it. It’s like a feeling, something that worms its way inside. A gut instinct. I know there’s no one waiting for me back where we came from, I almost knew that before the Maquis.”
“What do you remember?”
Again the long pause while she stared numbly at the deck, then him. “I remember…I’m not sure what I remember, really. There was an accident. People died. But not me.”
“Anything else?”
“There was…fire. Something burning. A house, a building, something.” Her brows furrowed. “I should have been inside. But I was outside.”
“And everyone else was inside?” Neelix asked gently.
She nodded.
“I see.” What else could he say? I’m sorry? No amount of being sorry covered the loss of anything, let alone one’s family.
“No, it doesn’t,” Sara didn’t look at him, jumping down from the counter and ignoring the tingle that spread through her feet at the shock. Once again, she had startled him with her telepathic abilities. She asked questions in such a manner that he had forgotten what she was. “Sorry doesn’t cover it. And it doesn’t bring them back, either.”
“Why did you tell me?” Neelix’s orange eyes narrowed. “About…those memories.”
“Because we’re not as unlike as you think we are,” was her only answer. “We’re both people that lost our families, before the time came. Loss is loss, any way you cut it, the parts don’t add up. And once they’re gone, you can’t put them back.”
Having said her piece, she disappeared as silently as she had come in, leaving Neelix in the still-forlorn darkness of his kitchen.
